


for you, tenderness

by kornevable



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable
Summary: “I like looking at your face,” Dimitri replies easily. “Your hair is lovely, today.”“’Your hair is lovely’,” Felix parrots. “Say what you mean, Dimitri.”The inherent vulnerability and comfort a touch brings, at three stages of their life.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	for you, tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the [Dimilix community zine](https://twitter.com/dmfxanthology/status/1309655072754679808?s=20), that you can get for free!

It’s in the quiet and peaceful night that Felix finds Dimitri staring at the sky, outside his tent. He’s not wearing his armor, which shouldn’t be a surprising sight but it still fills Felix with a soothing feeling.

“You should be sleeping, I’m not going to babysit you in the next battle.”

Dimitri doesn’t startle at his voice; he merely turns around to face Felix, and despite the circumstances and the looming threat of never seeing tomorrow’s light, he smiles.

“Ah, Felix. I apologize if you saw it necessary to check up on me.”

He usually doesn’t speak like that with him. The words that are exchanged between them aren’t filtered and they bear the weight of their straightforward meaning. Felix crosses his arms and searches for any traces of falsehood on this man’s face.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he scoffs. “What’s the point of being scared now?”

They’re going to storm Enbarr. They’ve faced many powerful and dangerous enemies, soiling their hands with their blood, and they’ll keep doing so until they bring victory. Dimitri has had his hands painted in crimson long before the war broke out.

The prince shakes his head, slightly frowning—but it seems that’s because he’s choosing his words, and not because he’s affected by Felix’s bluntness.

“I think we are all scared in some way, during a battle,” he says. “For our own life, maybe, but for others, too.”

Dimitri then flicks his gaze towards him, tentatively, like he used to do a long time ago, when he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure he would get an answer. It’s the same face the shy boy used to make when he was afraid of stepping over a line, and he would scrunch his nose or look away. Guarding himself. This is exactly what he’s doing right now, to Felix’s annoyance.

“Spit it out. You’re wasting my time,” he mutters.

He can walk away and pretend he didn’t see Dimitri brooding, yet he’s still standing there.

“This is hopefully our last battle. I do not want to lose anyone else,” Dimitri admits softly. “We have suffered enough losses as it is.”

He lets out the quietest sigh, staring at the sky again. Familiar anger is twisting Felix’s stomach, slow and burning too hotly, and he has to bite his cheeks to avoid speaking words he will regret. He’s tired of collecting regrets.

“You know that death is inevitable, stop obsessing over it. We’ve talked about this.”

Dimitri chuckles. “Yes, that’s right. You are always there to remind me that my world isn’t limited to what I want.”

Felix takes a decisive step and stands in front of Dimitri. If he refuses to look at him, then Felix is the one who will make it happen. He grabs his forearms with both hands, steadying himself and tugging on them to force Dimitri’s gaze to drop on him. Surprise and confusion both paint his pale face illuminated by the moonlight.

“Then stop thinking and start acting,” Felix snaps, teeth bared. “I’m not going to repeat myself. We’ll win because there’s no other possible outcome. Don’t run away.”

He thinks about the grueling hardships they faced and he thinks about his father’s dying words—failing right before victory’s gates would be a poor joke that shouldn’t even exist within their minds. His grip on Dimitri’s arms tightens; he can’t remember the last time he touched him like this, full of conviction and desire to make him understand. Felix has never been good with words.

Dimitri’s attention lands briefly on Felix’s hands, as if he just noticed that they were here, and the curve of his lips is slightly more genuine, more vulnerable. It’s not a bad look on him. He gently withdraws one of his arms to pat Felix’s hand. This doesn’t send an electrifying sensation in his body, though the sudden warm prickling in his hand is unmistakable. Like a reassurance summoning a promise.

“I would never dream of running away at such a critical time,” he says. “I will not fail. We will win together.”

Dimitri’s words are supposed to bring people closer and to make them believe in anything. They ring like a song, clearing a path through their barriers and reaching into their souls, soft but persistent. Felix exhales sharply, and nods once.

“Good.”

He glances at their arms. He doesn’t feel the immediate need to jerk away, not even when Dimitri seems just as disturbed but pleased at their proximity. Washing away years of avoiding any unnecessary contact except for sparring shouldn’t be so easy, and yet a feeling akin to acceptance settles in Felix’s chest like it belongs there.

There is no hesitancy when he releases Dimitri’s arms, but his fingers linger a bit longer than intended, and the look Dimitri gives him is almost too honest for him to consider.

* * *

Felix still wears gloves well after the end of war. The harsh Faerghus weather has never been gentle on his calloused fingers and his multiple scars acquired across the years. One would say it is also tradition, but it’s only about convenience, really. His hands hurt less and he doesn’t have to directly touch people with his skin.

The sword scabbard strapped at his side looks expensive, of fine chiseled metal and adorned with small blue stones. It looks like a decorative weapon for a show of wealth, but the blade inside it is real and just as sharp as the tongue of the man wielding it—not that anyone truly knows it, of course, as people tend to avoid interacting with Duke Fraldarius. Making him draw his sword in anger has apparently become a challenge among the most foolish of noblemen; Felix would have done it with or without anger, but he isn’t going to play their games.

The guards simply nod at him when he bypasses them and enters the private quarters of the king. They were specially arranged to be separate from his bedroom, for him to work on paperwork or on whatever he’s currently overseeing. It acts like an office, but this is simply where Dimitri can spend time alone without being bothered by every single servant, nobleman or knight roaming the castle. Some people saw these private quarters as a place where illicit affairs could occur; Felix pointedly ignores these remarks.

“I thought you said you needed a good spar today,” he says as a greeting, standing in front of the desk littered with paperwork.

Dimitri, hair haphazardly tied back and eyepatch loosely on, lifts his head and smiles at him, sheepish.

“I apologize, Felix, I didn’t see how late it has gotten. Let me finish reviewing these reports.”

Fódlan being at peace is probably more work than Fódlan at war. They are responsible for too many territories and relying on too many people, but at least Dimitri has enough awareness to know he can’t make every decision alone. Felix sighs and sits on the corner of the desk despite having a perfectly good chair at his disposal, picks up a report and starts reading. Dimitri opens his mouth but Felix lifts a hand and shushes him.

“It will be faster that way.”

They work in silence. Felix might not like sitting for hours and reading the demands and pleas of insufferable people, but like most things, he grows accustomed to it and mechanically goes through it. Dimitri is patient and perhaps too eager to please—Felix is always, always there to remind him he’s not just a king to his people, but also a loved one to friends. Not in as many words, of course, because he still struggles infusing them with the right amount of sincerity, and uttering them still makes his body grow too uncomfortable for his liking. He’s lived all his life discarding vulnerability.

He doesn’t speak the words that other people would say without hesitation, but Dimitri knows him. Infuriatingly so.

They finish putting away the reports and get up. Felix looks up, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he grouses.

The glint in Dimitri’s eye is bright, today. Other times it’s dull and clouded by his ghosts. It’s strange to see his face so relaxed when he’s spent a considerable amount of time working, but Felix doesn’t pretend that it doesn’t bring him a feeling of serenity of his own.

“I like looking at your face,” Dimitri replies easily. “Your hair is lovely, today.”

“’Your hair is lovely’,” Felix parrots. “Say what you mean, Dimitri.”

Felix maintains eye contact, even when Dimitri gets closer and lifts a hand to touch his face. Dimitri’s hand is just as scarred and hurt as his, if not more, but he doesn’t wear gloves as often. His touch is light, feathery-like as he strokes Felix’s cheek, his lips stretched into a sunlit smile.

“You are wearing my gift.”

Dimitri’s other hand comes around Felix’s head to take the long strip of blue fabric between his fingers. It’s a hair ribbon that shouldn’t hold much meaning, if not for the lions and the swords stitched onto it. Most people won’t even notice them, since they are innocuous symbols of Faerghus. Felix cherishes it all the same and doesn’t miss the opportunity to show it off.

“It’s practical,” he says with the beginning of a smirk. “It keeps my hair out of the way.”

“Only the best for you,” Dimitri affirms.

Felix removes his gloves, lets them carelessly fall on the floor, and takes Dimitri’s face with both hands. He starts rubbing slow circles with his thumbs under his eyes, and Dimitri flutters them shut.

“After our spar you should get some rest,” Felix says.

There is only a hum of acknowledgment as Felix keeps doing the motion. Dimitri’s hands then cover his, firm and warm, a contrast to the cold hand dealing the final blow to the enemy. Dimitri has never been anything but gentle when he’s holding those precious to him. They’re simply standing there in the middle of the room, allowing themselves to indulge in touches that are becoming more common as the years pass. Their remaining scars will never fade, but they’ll learn to recognize how each one of them feels.

* * *

People can’t make out the shape of a ring under Felix’s gloves because there isn’t one. There is no ring proving that he’s bound to someone to life, and they have learned the hard way not to constantly ask about his marriage, when he’s finally drawn his sword, pointed it at everyone and told them to mind their own fucking business. He’s pleased to notice his stance and his moves still intimidate his opponents, a decade after the end of the war.

Dimitri laughs every time Felix complains about this issue, and he brings Felix’s left wrist to his lips to kiss the exposed skin between the glove and the cuff of his shirt. He manages to do it without fail, trailing butterfly kisses all around the wrist and sending shivers down Felix’s spine, even with the silver bracelet wrapped around it.

“I would be lying if I said it didn’t upset me, but I’m glad I still have you,” Dimitri whispers, and Felix snorts.

“You’ve given me enough accessories to brand me as yours over the years.”

Dimitri grins. “That I did. You returned the favor.”

The King is always seen with a beautiful dagger strapped at his side, the sheath full of intricate chiseling and enhanced with golden outline, while the pommel is carved in the shape of a familiar shield. A bold gift carrying devotion to the crown.

Felix takes his wrist back and slips his hand into Dimitri’s, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.

“I’m not complaining, if you were wondering.”

“I know you like the attention.”

It is not a perfect ending by traditional standards, but it is good enough. They are at each other’s side, like it should be, like it was meant to be—it is not a perfect ending but it is the one they chose.

**Author's Note:**

> Hands are a recurrent theme with Dimitri, which I think is extremely soft ;w; Thanks for reading!
> 
> / come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kornetable)!


End file.
